


Playing with Goblins

by TaergaLive



Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [4]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: "The goblin growls. 'Oh, you’ll pay for that, sweetheart.' He unsheaths his mace. His friends follow suit.'Finally,' Astarion purrs, pulling out his daggers. 'Some real fun.'"The gang finally finds the goblin camp, wheeeee
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061618
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Playing with Goblins

**Author's Note:**

> I hate fight scenes.  
> Also here's a picture of Sephrin I made with a piccrew if you're interested. https://taergalive.tumblr.com/post/638063039766298624/httpspicrewmeimagemaker185483
> 
> Also also here's the walkthrough I've mostly been using to vicariously play this game.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lhslm5bFlI&t=2040s

“This isn’t what I was expecting from a goblin camp.”

Through the din of cracking fire, shattering glass, yelling, squealing, utter chaos, the party observed the lair. The smell of booze saturated the air as goblins raided, drank, and made merry. The scene looks more like a demented fair rather than a military operation. Then again, Glynren didn’t know what to expect. He sneers openly as they step over a still bleeding corpse. 

“Well, what did you expect?” Gale chuckles, dodging a tossed bottle. “Campfire songs?” 

Despite himself, Glynren grins. “Would have settled for telling ghost stories.”

Ghost stories indeed. Keeping her arms pressed against her chest, Sephrin does nothing to hide her discomfort. The scent of blood which overwhelms her is trounced only by the stench of burning flesh. Nearby, a goblin gives her a toothy jeer. She falters in her step, but a hand on the small of her back keeps her moving. 

“Try not to look too terrified, my dear,” Astarion chimes. “Make them work for it.” 

With all the chaos, the group was finding it difficult to move about. They were constantly getting cut off, bumped into, shouted at. Once on a quieter side street, Glynren sighed. “I can’t believe I’m even going to suggest this, but...it might be best to split up into two smaller groups.”

It seems that everyone has the same thought as they side eye one another. Who goes with whom? Which combination of people would be the least destructive? It wasn’t just a matter of who got along best with whom but more about who was going to make sure certain people didn’t make trouble and muck up the whole plan. Glynren wanted to stick by Lae’zel because he didn’t trust her to keep her cool around the goblins if left to her own devices. Wyll wanted to stick with Glyn because he was one of the few of the group the warlock actually trusted to help him in a pinch. When Shadowheart heard that Wyll and Glynren wanted to explore the temple, she decidedly told them she would stick with the second group. 

That left Gale, Astarion, and Sephrin. Obviously, Glynren wanted his sister by his side, but surprisingly, he suggested she go with Shadowheart. If his group was going inside the temple to look for the goblin leaders, he’d prefer his sister to stay outside, away from the fray. Astarion was all too eager to go with the two half-elf ladies, which made Gale offer to babysit the vampire. But Shadowheart insisted she could handle Astarion, claiming that it made more sense for Gale to join the others inside if they were going to infiltrate the temple. 

The team divvied up, the plan was formed. Glynren’s group was to explore the temple and seek out the goblin leaders. Shadowheart’s group was to see what information they could find. Before they split, Glynren put a hand on his sister’s shoulder and leaned close to her. 

“If something goes wrong,” he whispers, “You run, understand? Do whatever you need to to get away from them.” As he pulls away, the look he gives her tells Sephrin that he wasn’t talking about the goblins. A chill runs down her spine as her brother moves out, his group following. 

“I thought he’d never leave,” Astarion titters, stepping out of the way of some rowdy goblin children. 

The three of them start to meander through the burning town, Seprhin dithering behind the other two. Shadowheart chuckles. “Indeed. Seems we are lucky, you and I. We don’t have to listen to any more prattle about honor or doing the right thing.” She pauses, glancing back at Sephrin. “Well, maybe not.” 

“Who, our little Sephrin here?” Astarion swoops his arm behind the girl in question, pushing her to be between himself and the cleric. 

Shadowheart stares down at her. “Yes, our little morality pet.” 

Sephrin tries to shirk away, but Astarion keeps the arm at her back, preventing her escape. He tuts. “You don’t have to worry about our friend here spoiling our fun.”

The cleric cocks a brow. “We’re having fun?”

“Are you not?” he playfully cocks a brow. 

A snort. “You certainly are an odd one, Astarion.”

As the two chat, Sephrin’s heart lurches in her chest and a lump forms in her throat. She knew the goblins were making her nervous, but something else was putting her on edge. She couldn’t name it though. Furrowing her brows, she tried to turn inward, to process the situation. She was afraid, yes, but her current anxiety seemed to be linked to the two she was traveling with. But Astarion had promised to protect her as long as she continued to offer her blood, and while Shadowheart didn’t seem to care for her, Sephrin didn’t think the woman would cause her any harm, for now anyway. So why the apprehension?

A pinch to her side thrusts her out of her thoughts. Her yelp alerts the other two, and the three of them spin around. At first, Sephrin thought it was Astarion, but she knew he would have had a smirk waiting for her. When she notices a goblin scurrying in the opposite direction, she instinctively grabs at her hip. 

“H-hey!” she calls out, ducking under Astarions arm to give chase. 

Weaving around the crowds, her feet pound hard against the pavement. Her target had a hefty head start, but her legs were longer than the goblins. It didn’t take long for her to catch up to him, and she grips the pouch in his grubby hands. It’s enough to stop the goblin from running, but he refuses to let go, grunting. Sephrin does whatever she can to pry his filthy fingers off the pouch, even digging her nails into his wrists. But the bugger bites her hand, giving him the chance to scurry off victoriously. 

“How revolting,” Shadowheart clicks her tongue as she and Astarion finally catch up to Sephrin. Wincing, Sephrin holding her hand tightly, but the blood still oozes out. It only distracts her for a moment. She takes to her feet once more. 

Arms around her waist stop her, momentarily lifting her off the ground. “While I enjoy the bravado,” Astarion chides. “You lost. You’re lucky you didn’t lose that hand.” He lets her go only when he’s convinced she’s not going to run off. 

With a sigh, Shadowheart holds out her hand. “Here. I should mend. Astarion is starting to salivate.” 

Hesitantly, Sephrin places her hand in Shadowheart’s She watches in fascination as the cleric heals the wound. First, the blood gradually stops dripping. Then the teeth holes close up, the skin puckering until smoothing over. Once it’s done, Sephrin flexes her hand and examines it.

Shadowheart chuckles. “Had you come to me the other night, I could have mended those holes,” she nods toward Sephrin’s neck. “Nothing I can do about them now.” 

Sephrin’s face heats up as she instinctively reaches for her neck. Nibbling her lip, she looks off toward where the thief ran off. “I, I need to, to get that back.” 

“Let me guess,” Shadowheart sighs. “A valuable trinket of yours?” When Sephrin blushes more, she shakes her head. “Should have kept better hold of it.” 

For a moment, it looks as though Sephrin might cry, but she bites her lip and looks down at her feet before giving a little nod. While blunt, Shadowheart was right, and Sephrin knew it. It was her fault her pouch was stolen. And now there was nothing she could do. Such an idiot!

She should have stayed at camp. Or gone with her brother. She wondered how he was doing with the others. 

______

Standing over the fallen corpse, Glynren sighs. While he didn’t trust Astarion in the slightest, he was glad his sister was not here to witness this. 

“That’s one of the leaders down,” Wyll commented, folding his arms. 

“Finally,” Lae’zel hissed. The Githyanki seemed satisfied they finally got to kill a goblin. 

When the four of them had entered the temple, they could tell they hit the motherload of good fortune. Their first success was finding this now deceased goblin priestess. It wasn’t difficult to lure her away from her “disciples” once she noticed the group had the tadpoles as well. As interesting as it was to find another infected, none of them hesitated to put her down. 

Dusting off his sleeve, Gale frowns. “I’m a bit concerned about all this ‘Absolute’ business. Those wanderers we found, the one with the dead brother, they had said something similar. That their brother was ‘chosen by the Absolute.’ What could all of it mean?” 

“Sounds like someone’s making a religion out of all of this,” Wyll muses. “It has its advantages, like right now, but I agree with you. It’s dangerous.”

Not waiting for the others, Lae’zel trudged off, eager for the next battle. Glynren made sure to follow close behind. So far the expedition was going well. He didn’t want her messing it up. “Back at the grove,” he says, “One of the druids mentioned the healer was captured by the goblins. If he’s still, he’d be in this temple.”

Lae’zel eyes him. “Unless they killed him.”

“Given all the talk of torture these goblins are doing,” Gale catches up to them. “I’d say he’s probably still alive. And our best hope for getting rid of these worms.” When the Githyanki scowls, he holds up his hands. “And if not, we’ll try your creche.”

“Then it probably was a waste of time,” Glynren frowns. “Separating the group.”

Gale pats the elf’s shoulder. “Nonsense. We don’t know for certain if the healer is here. It’s good to have those three doing some investigating.” He gives the shoulder a squeeze. “And I’m sure your sister is fine.” 

Glynren’s cheeks turn a rosy pink as he gives Gale a lopsided smile. Seems blushing runs in the family. “Was it that obvious?”

“Between you and Lae’zel, I’m not sure which one of you would kill Astarion first,” the wizard chuckled. 

“I would have had no quarrel with him,” Glynren admits, “If he hadn’t decided to latch onto my sister. She’s easily deceived. And a sucker for a pretty face.”

The wizard studied Glynren. “I know you’re her brother and everything, but you seem...overly protective.” He wanted to say “possessive,” but there was no point in starting an argument. 

Glynren sighed. “I didn’t always...like my sister. When she first came to live with us, I was still rather young, at least by elven standards. About 85 or so. My father insisted on me watching over her, letting her tag along wherever I went. My friends started to mock me for it. Not so much because of what she was but because she was so young. It was like I had some lost duckling tailing me. They called me soft. Called me Mama Duck. Stupid, I know, but when you’re young, those sort of things get to you. So, I did what any kid would do when his friends are teasing him; I decided to prove them wrong. I tricked my sister into a game, a game that left her lost in the city for almost 3 days.” 

Wyll shakes his head.”Oof, that’s awful. But I’m guessing she was found.” 

Though he smiles, guilt gleams in his eyes. “Of course. My father and I ran a fine comb over the city until we found her. And the worst part about it was...she never blamed me for getting lost. She cried, apologizing for getting lost. It shattered me.”

“And so,” Gale proclaimed, “From then on, you promised to be a better brother. To protect her.” 

The elf chuckled and nodded. Lae’zel grunted, “How noble.” It wasn’t clear if she was being sarcastic or serious. 

Their conversation is cut short by a screech, an agonizing, harrowing scream. Glancing at one another, the four of them made haste to follow the sound. Rounding a corner, they found two goblins torturing a man hanging from a rack. The group stayed back, assessing the situation. 

“He looks like one of the druids,” Glynren whispers. “Maybe he’s that healer. Or he’ll know where-” But he’s interrupted by Wyll, who marches toward the goblin holding the spear. “Wait, Wyll!” 

The others catch up to Wyll just as he addresses the goblin. “Spike, enough!”

The goblin, supposedly Spike, whips around and sneers. “Well, look what the Absolute dragged in. It’s my pussycat: the Blade of Frontiers! Come for a rematch? I can’t wait to add the remaining eye to my collection.” 

The Absolute. The name catches Glynren’s attention. But he has no chance to question the goblin as Wyll glowers down at the goblin. “I’m not here for you and you know it. I’m here for the woman. I know you took her. Where is she?  _ Where is Mizora _ ?”

Woman? Mizora? What was Wyll talking about? Grynren and Gale exchange looks. Spike’s smirk, meanwhile, grows. “Smells funny when you burn her. Screams real good, too. Tell you what, Pussycat. You make this rat squeal, and I’ll take you right to her.”

That enraged look Wyll had instantly disappears. “You want me to torture him? Forget it.” 

Spike huffs. “Then forget your precious lady-mate and get out of here!” 

Lae’zel grits her teeth. “This is a waste of time.” 

As Wyll glares down at the goblin, Glynren tries to assess the situation. Whoever this woman is, Wyll is very determined to get her back. But not determined enough to go against his virtues. Pursing his lips, he steps forward. “I’ll do it for him.”

Wyll recoils. “What?”

“Your chum’s alright, Pussycat,” Spike chortles before addressing Glynren. “Go on, make him squirm.”

Glynren takes the spear from the goblin, studying the druid on the rack. But as helpful as he wants to be to Wyll, he can’t bring himself to do it. To attack an unarmed man is unjustly cruel. But attacking an unarmed goblin was a different story. So he drives the butt of the spear into the goblin’s nose. Blood spurts every which way as Spike cries out. 

“Augh!” he hisses. “You lousy...I’m not telling you anything, so just give it up.” The other goblin readies himself for battle. 

“Then this conversation is over,” Glynren holds the spear defensively. 

Lae’zel rolls her shoulder. “Finally,” she hisses before lunging forward. 

The fight does not last long. They had the tortures outnumbered 2:1. It almost seemed unfair, but at this point, the group doesn’t care about being fair. When the battle is over, Wyll looks over at Glynren. “I can tell you have questions. But now is not the time. Later, I promise, you can ask away.” 

The elf nods before letting the druid down. The man almost collapses to the ground, but Glynren and Wyll quickly catch him.

“Oh, thank you,” the druid pants. “Thank you! I, I need to get out of here. I need to warn the others about…”

“Before you do that,” Glynren looks him in the eye. “We’re looking for the druid healer. We heard he might have been captured with you.”

“Haslin?” the prisoner’s eyes widen. “I, I don’t know. He changed into a bear when we were attacked, but I lost sight of him. He might not even be still alive.”

“A bear, huh?” Gale crosses his arms. “Well, at least we know what to look for.”

______

It didn’t take long for the trio to tire of the “festivities” around town. Between watching goblins chase after an owlbear and finding out the meal that was cooking was dwarf meat, they were about ready to head into the temple to join the others. Shadowheart still scrunched her nose at the idea. 

“If we really have to,” she protests as she takes a sip. They had passed a bowl of some sort of strong-smelling alcohol, and while Shadowheart was disgusted by Astarion’s suggestion of partaking in the drink, she found it made the festival more tolerable. “I’d rather not endure traipsing around a temple of Selûne.” 

Astarion chuckles. “Afraid you’ll burst into flames, my dear?” 

Her face grows dark. “Selûne is a bad omen. Just look at what happened to her temple.” 

Although she hesitated at first, Sephrin had been sipping at her own cup as well, sitting on a pile of crates while Shadowheart and Astarion lean against a nearby wall. She frowns. “Most likely the goblins,” she mutters, more to herself than to Shadowheart. 

The cleric must still hear her because she looks in Sephrin’s direction. Shrugging, Shadowheart manages a little smile. “I’ll grant that it must have been an impressive temple at one time, in all its  _ profane  _ glory. Until someone razed it, that is.” 

Sephrin tilts her head and looks towards Shadowheart. “You worship Shar.” It comes out more like a statement than a question. 

For a moment, Shadowheart’s eyes widen. But only for a moment. She quickly recovers. “What gives you that idea?”

Shrugging, Sephring runs a finger along the rim of her cup. “Why else would you be so against Selûne? Usually, when someone worships one of the sisters, they strongly dislike the other.”

When Astarion cocks a brow at her, Shadowheart sighs, seeming annoyed. “Very well. Yes, I worship Shar, the Mistress of Night. It is my holy duty to oppose Selûne and all her teaching and followers. Please don’t make a big fuss about it.”

Dully, Astarion clinks his tin cup against hers. “Heavens forbid. We’re all entitled to our secrets.” 

“I’m not so worried about _your_ opinion,” she counters, side-eying Sephrin. 

Again, Sephrin shrugs. “I’ve always viewed religion pragmatically. My father always taught me that religion starts many wars, so it is best to stay out of what others believe.” She pauses to take a drink. “Besides, if it weren’t for Selûne fighting with Shar, we wouldn’t have the world as we know it.”

Shadowheart raises a brow. “I’m surprised. I would have taken you to be scandalized by my worshipping her. Most people are.” She then looks to Astarion. “What did you do to her to make her talk to us now?” 

Astarion smirks as Sephrin blushes. “Our friend is always talking. You just have to listen.” 

His cup empty, Astarion tosses it into the street. Not like it isn’t already littered with junk. Having decided they lingered enough, the three of them started heading toward the temple. They pass a group of goblins who seem to be doing their own drinking. One stands at the top of a short flight of stairs, animatedly telling his companions a story of glory. A gleam of light crosses Sephrin’s eyes, and it makes her stop in her tracks. Adorning the goblin’s toe was a golden ring. 

“...thrashed his arm with my bare hands,” the goblin boasted, raising his cup. “Weaker than pixies humans is.”

As the other goblins laugh and toast him, Sephrin steps forward, staring at the goblin’s foot. Shadowheart puts a hand on Astarion’s shoulder, alerting him that their morality pet has wandered off. Neither one complain, though. Neither one was really eager to join the others so soon. They stand by, waiting to see what happens. 

When Sephrin gets close enough, the goblin glares at her. “And who are you? Bleeding half-elf. Thinking you rule the world.” He spits in Sephrin’s direction, but it doesn’t seem to phase her. When she says nothing, he continues. “But things is changing. We got the Absolute on our side now.” 

“Absolute?” Shadowheart blinks. 

The goblin doesn’t even bat an eye in Shadowheart’s direction. His attention is solely on the girl in front of him. “Better learn your place. Go on,” he lifts up his foot, the ring glimmering. He gives the girl a challenging look. “Kiss my foot.” 

Again, Shadowheart blinks. “Oh my.”

Astarion holds back a chuckle. “Go on, give him a nibble.” 

That seems to snap Sephrin out of her trance, for she looks away from the goblin’s foot and to his smug face. He wiggles his foot for extra measure. Sephrin looks down at the foot again. Without warning, she slams her boot against his other foot, the one on the ground. As the goblin yowls, she yanks the ring off his foot, quickly pocketing it. The combined action makes the goblin fall on his ass. 

The goblin growls. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, sweetheart.” He unsheaths his mace. His friends follow suit. 

“Finally,” Astarion purrs, pulling out his daggers. “Some  _ real _ fun.” 

Realizing what’s she’s done, Sephrin backs away from the goblin trio. One reaches out to grab her while another swings its mace at her. She yelps, stumbling back and tripping over a discarded barrel. She lands roughly on her ass and elbows. In reality, the battle is three against two, but the goblins don’t see it that way. There are three elves in their way, so it makes sense for each to focus on them 1:1. Astarion wastes no time slashing the closest goblin, leaving a crimson gash across their face. Meanwhile, Shadowheart bashes the other with her shield. The one who was wearing the ring, of course, zeroes in on Sephrin. As he starts bearing down on her, she kicks the barrel in his direction. He easily leaps over it, raising his mace above his head. Sephrin knows she ought to get on her feet, that she’s vulnerable on the ground, but she can’t seem to get the traction she needs. The goblin slams the mace down. Desperate, Sephrin holds her hands up and grabs the mace, trying to push it away. The recoil vibrates through her, and her body is aching, but she ignores it, gritting her teeth. The goblin tries to pull the mace out of her grasp, but she holds on tightly, now pulling it toward her. He might be strong, but she has gravity on her side to help her. 

“Filthy half breed!” the goblin growls. “Let go!” 

He doesn’t have to ask twice. As he gives it a forceful tug, Sephrin lets go of the mace. It sends the goblin back, stumbling over the same barrel that tripped Sephrin. She uses the moment to finally get to her feet. 

“You have a bow, darling,” she hears over the din of the scrap. What does he expect her to do, fire at point-blank range? Still, she pulls the bow off her back along with an arrow and nocks it loosely. She feels a bit better having a weapon in her hands. She glances over to where Shadowheart and Astarion are fighting, worried about them. But that proves to be a mistake. It gives her goblin the chance to get up. Slowly, she backs up, trying to keep distance between her and her assailant. When she hits the wall, her eyes widen. 

So she does. She fires at point-blank range. 

The arrowhead embeds itself in the goblin’s right cheek. He howls out something fierce, gurgling blood. Sephrin’s face pales as she brings a hand to her mouth. But her hit isn’t enough to kill the goblin, and now she’s gone and pissed it right off. The goblin sees red with searing rage. 

“I’ll skin you alive, I will,” he seethes, blood dripping with each word. A hand seizes his head; a dagger slits his throat. With a bubbling cry, the goblin falls to his feet. 

Astarion flicks the blood off his blade. “Not too keen on goblin blood,” he explains. “A pity really. They seem to have a lot of it.” 

The little alleyway is drenched in blood, three goblin bodies littering the ground. Shadowheart made a point to check their pockets. Never know what could be useful. Sephrin remained motionless, her hand still covering her mouth, her eyes still wide. Sheathing his blades, Astarion clicks his tongue. 

“Really, darling, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen bloodshed.” Indeed, this fight was a lot less bloody than when they fought the bandits. 

But Sephrin shook her head slowly, closing her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers. 

“What?” Shadowheart asks, kicking one of the goblins aside. “Take that silly little ring?”

Sephrin doesn’t reply. So many thoughts running through her head. What gave her the right to spill blood? She feels something looming over her, and for a moment she thinks her punishment is nigh. But when she looks, Astarion’s eyes are boring down on her. The mirth is gone from his face. She thinks he’s going to scold her, yell at her for starting a fight when she couldn’t defend herself, for wasting their time. 

“Don’t ever hesitate like that again,” he says, his voice low and grim. “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who  _ fight  _ for survival...and those who are killed. You cannot rely on luck or fate or others to keep you alive. Only yourself. If someone throws a punch, you punch harder. If someone stabs you in the gut, you stab them in the eye.  _ Don’t. Hold. Back.”  _

He lingers there, looking down at her, their bodies inches away. Her heart races, and yet she can’t look away. It’s only when Shadowheart clears her throat that Astarion steps away. 

“Are you two quite done, or should I give you two a moment?” 

That sardonic mirth returns to Astarion’s face as if it had never left. “Eager to get to the temple, dear Shadowheart?” 

Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “We should leave before more goblins show up and see what we did to their friends.” 

He nods and extends his arm outward as if to say “After you.” Shaking her head, Shadowheart trudges away. Shakily, Sephrin manages to return the bow to her back and scurries to follow, hugging herself tightly. 

“By the way,” Astarion starts, looking back at the dead goblins. “Why did you take that ring?”

“My mother’s,” she whispers. “Must have gotten it from the thief.” 

Ah. It all makes sense now. “If it’s that valuable to you, why do you not wear it?” 

She knows the answer to that. The same reason she doesn’t fight. But after the lecture she just got, she wasn’t willing to share that information. So she looks down at her feet. “Just...don’t normally wear jewelry.” 

His eyes follow hers to her feet, then slowly trail up to the top of her head. Everything she wears is practical. And plain. Unassuming. Quite the opposite of his flashy clothes. “I see,” he sighs dramatically. “What a waste.” 

She glances up at him. “A waste? Of what?” 

But she doesn’t get an answer as Shadowheart opens the door to the temple. The air inside feels still, and blood seeps through the stones.Distant sounds of screams echo off the walls. As the doors close behind them, Sephrin feels her heart drop. Their companions were in here somewhere, fighting. Which means they’ll probably have to fight too. 

She swallows, the words echoing in her ears:  _ Don’t. Hold. Back. _


End file.
